"Apology" 2/2
Title: Apology
Part: 2/2
Author: A. Manley Haight (ralaegidius)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: House/Wilson
Prompt: 095. House/Wilson -- punishment/apology sex for the Tritter debacle, you decide who is the one apologizing ("get_house_laid" Round 2).
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by David Shore, the Fox Broadcasting Corporation, or any other legitimate copyright holders of "House, MD".
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"I could just take you right to the edge and not let you come," Wilson mused as he stroked.
"You could," House agreed, his eyes unreadable even as he pushed into Wilson's grip.
"You did say I could take what I wanted," Wilson continued, letting House fuck his hand and tightening his grip slightly on the in-stroke.
"Yep." House closed his eyes briefly on the next thrust. "God."
"Keep still," Wilson said softly.
"What?" House was breathless.
"Don't thrust. Don't move. Just...let me." Wilson let go for a moment, watching House's incredulous, aroused expression. He could read House's thought clearly: I'm not sure it's possible for me to be still, and you're insane to be asking, but I'll try because I said I'd do whatever you wanted. House's body quieted, thighs quivering but his pelvis resting fully on the bed. Panting breaths slowed, deepened. House swallowed hard, then nodded tightly to indicate he was ready for Wilson to touch him again. Wilson laid his palm on the shaft, feeling the heat rising from House's body. A shudder rippled up House's legs into his belly, but he didn't move.
Wilson's hand closing around his cock, however, made him suck in a sharp breath. A long stroke from that deft hand, and House pressed his lips together tightly. He was breathing hard through his nose, trying desperately not to push into that sweet touch. He was the sort of man who was cursed to be horny but not easily aroused. He needed that mental component, the imperative of having various psychological buttons pushed.
Apparently, Wilson pushed every one of them, including a few he hadn't known he possessed. The man's sable eyes devoured him just with a look, and he couldn't stop staring. No porn video, no sex magazine, nothing was as hot as the way James was looking at him right now. And the sensual touch on his penis was more than just physical stimulation. He could feel Wilson's desire for him, the trust between them, the regret he couldn't voice and the affection Wilson was afraid to speak aloud. Fuck, it felt so good. Everything. The intimacy, the comfort, the incredible pleasure that was about to spill over.
"Wilson," he rasped. It was a warning, a plea.
"Shh," Wilson said gently, stilling his hand. House was right on the edge -- he squeezed firmly and savored the moan that came out of the other man's throat. "Don't come. Not yet." House made a sound somewhere between and laugh and a sob, but didn't voice one word of complaint or demand. "Feels good?"
"Fuck yes," House gasped.
"How long has it been since you last came?"
"What is this, Twenty fucking Questions?" House asked. He regretted the antagonism in the next moment, when Wilson let go of his cock entirely. "'S been...I dunno...couple weeks," he offered desperately. "Everything going on with Tritter." Wilson nodded understandingly. His fingers returned to House's taut erection, lightly stroking up and down the satiny length. House exhaled sharply with a grunt, his eyes closing in relief.
"What do you want more than anything, right now?" Wilson teased. He expected a plea for orgasm, for a touch of some kind. The way House hesitated intrigued him, and then the blue eyes opened again to look straight into his.
"I want us to be okay," House gasped. His left hand let go of its death grip on the bedcovers and came up to lay the back of knuckles gently against Wilson's arm. Not trying to grasp, or beg. Just that soft, soft spread of fingers on the fine hairs of his arm while the rest of House's body was wound up like a steel coil, sweaty and starving.
"Oh, House," Wilson whispered. "We're okay. It's okay."
"Be kinda nice to come, then," House replied, licking his upper lip. Wilson let go of his penis again, and a groan of frustration tore free from deep in House's chest. Wilson chuckled, and House laughed breathlessly. This was a game, a delicious, pleasurable game between them like so many other games they had played in their friendship.
"Turn over," Wilson said. The shift in House's expression was so fast it took his breath away. Anxiety, questioning, a deep uncertainty that reminded Wilson just how inexperienced House was with men -- and, apparently, some aspects of his own solitary pleasure. "Do you trust me?"
That simple question made House visibly relax a great deal. He didn't answer, but merely moved to comply with the instruction. Wilson shoved a pillow under his pelvis to raise his ass up in the air a little, and to give some support to his bad leg. It also gave him something to rub his cock against, and he purred lowly, buttocks clenching as he pushed into the soft mass. Wilson fought back a curse at the inviting sight of those strong muscles bunching up. House had powerful legs, even the right one, because all the other muscles compensated for the ones that weren't there.
The bed shifted as Wilson leaned over him toward the table by the bed. House evened out his breathing carefully, his head turned to the side to watch Wilson take a bottle of warming lube out of the drawer.
"Just happen to be prepared?" he asked wryly. He heard Wilson snort softly.
"For all those nights when my companion is my left hand?" Wilson replied, amused. "Yes." House gave a low hum, smiling into the pillow. "Let me go get a towel."
The mattress creaked momentarily as Wilson got up. He came back with both a towel and a damp washcloth. House wasn't entirely sure about this whole thing...what Wilson was probably going to do to him. Wilson's easy manner made it less terrifying -- this might be new for House, but not Wilson. House was willing to surrender himself to Wilson's experience. Wilson was nothing if not competent in everything he chose to pursue. "You okay?" came Wilson's low, gentle voice as he returned to the bed and settled himself.
"Yeah," House said roughly, and it became true as Wilson's palm stroked down his back. He heard the bottle's flip-top opened, a faint gooey sound and then the lid snapped shut again. /Breathe. Just breathe. You know Wilson won't hurt you./ The sticky, slick sound of hands being rubbed together. Nothing could have prepared him for the palm on his left buttock, and he flinched hard. The hand stilled immediately, warm gel damp on his skin. He realized he was panting, and fought to slow it down. Wilson must have been waiting for that, and the palm moved again, sliding over the firm shape of his rump.
A moan uncurled from deep in his belly, surprising even him. It felt inexplicably good to have his ass rubbed, and Wilson's other hand soon joined the first in a slow, pleasant massage. Wilson's thumbs were gradually moving inward, toward the cleft of his ass. It was weird. Sensitive, almost ticklish, alien in spite of his familiarity with his own touch when bathing. One slick thumb finally slid over his anus, and he shied forward involuntarily with a gasp.
"Wilson -- "
"I know," Wilson said soothingly. "I don't have to if you don't want it."
"As many DREs as I've had, you'd think I'd be used to it," House rasped, attempting a casual tone and failing completely. Wilson chuckled softly.
"It's not the same."
"Yeah, I noticed that."
"You ever get hard from a DRE?" Wilson wondered.
"Nope," House said honestly. "Most unarousing thing I can think of that involves me dropping my pants and being fondled."
"And is this...okay?" Wilson asked cautiously. He was still stroking casually with one thumb, but not quite making contact with the anus like before.
"Wouldn't be lying here with my bare ass in the air otherwise," House said. "Just..." He exhaled tensely. "Go slow, okay?"
"Sure. Slow as you want. I need to know, though..." Wilson hesitated, as if fearful of the answer. "Does this feel good, or are you just tolerating it because I'm asking it of you?"
"You kinda startled me before," House murmured. "It's...unfamiliar. But...yeah. It's good."
"I'm going to do it again, all right?" Wilson said. House grunted assent, and braced himself when he felt more lube dribbled between his buttocks. Slow, sensuous thumb again, starting at the top of the crack where the skin was highly sensitive. He shivered, and the thumb pressed downward, between firm muscles that trembled with the effort of not trapping the finger and denying access.
Warm, slick thumb pad over the delicate skin of his anus, sending little bolts of lightning through him and making him twitch with each stroke. The only relevant body memory his brain coughed up was, indeed, a prostate exam. It was the only thing even remotely similar that he had experienced before. Ironically, it didn't help, because a clinical exam wasn't supposed to feel good, and the doctor performing it would have been more interested in palpating his anatomy than in providing pleasure. /Of course, there are probably a few who try to do both and get off on it,/ House thought involuntarily. He wondered vaguely if Wilson had ever performed a prostate exam on anyone in a professional capacity.
"Stop thinking," Wilson chided, and House let out a surprised whuff of breath.
"Can't help it," House said. "Brain won't shut up."
"Hm. Obviously I'm doing this wrong, then."
House wasn't sure exactly what Wilson did to change his technique -- possibly something to do with timing, or the delicacy of the touch on his anus and the surrounding hands on his ass. Maybe it was the deliberateness of it, the focus Wilson was giving toward trying to find a way in through House's unintentional emotional armor. Whatever the reason, a flicker of pleasure found one of the nerve pathways up his spine to his nucleus accumbens, and he grunted.
"There," he murmured. Wilson hmmed again and carefully pushed his buttocks farther apart. It was a struggle to allow it, because it was such a vulnerable part of his body, but having it teased like this was making him breathe out tiny moans with each exhale. He spread his legs without thinking, heard Wilson inhale sharply in surprise, and pushed back against the touch. "More," he rumbled, nostrils flaring as his cock rubbed the pillow under him. His hands clenched into the bedsheets, giving him leverage, and his back arched at the flare of need that ripped through him in a scalding wave.
Wilson nudged the slick thumb into him, answering his demand. It was an invasion, private and wonderful, and burned a little even through the smooth lubricant. He gave a choked gasp of astonishment -- this was nothing like a prostate exam, not anymore. Wilson wiggled his finger slightly, and House panted in echo of the flood of delicious ripples it sent through him.
"Okay?" Wilson asked worriedly. House's answer was a low growl that reverberated through the mattress. His hand shaking, Wilson withdrew his thumb slightly, then nudged again in a tiny thrust. The growl intensified, House's body flexing like a lazy cat in warm sunlight.
"Yes," came the hoarse response. House knew that Wilson couldn't afford to misinterpret his reactions, so the verbal consent was needed. But, fuck, it was hard to talk just now. The thumb started to move in small circles, stretching him ever so slightly, stimulating the highly innervated skin there. He wasn't sure exactly when this had become pleasurable, but God it was liquid flame through his veins. "Christ, more."
Wilson couldn't believe he heard it at first. But House's skin was hot and damp in the room's low light, gleaming with sweat, a pink flush spreading up to his nape. Wilson withdrew his thumb quickly, carefully, and replaced it with his first two fingers together. "Fuck!" House exclaimed, shoving back against the intrusion greedily. "Oh...Jesus..." Wilson could hear the incredulity, the amazement of this sensation. He knew it himself, although it had been quite a while since he'd experienced it.
"Nice, isn't it?" Wilson said, his voice having dropped almost an octave. The hard muscles in House's back rippled and that low growl reached him again. "And maybe...this..." He pressed deep suddenly, turning his hand to search for that prostate with the surety of a doctor's knowledge. It was small, and deceptively firm, but he knew that a gentle touch was the best to start.
The choked yell that House let out made him grin, and he had to move quickly to keep up as House bucked against him. His finger darted lightly over the bump deep inside, tiny flicking strokes that made House's entire body flinch with each one.
"Oh God...God," House panted. "I think...I'm gonna come..."
"No, you're not," Wilson said, amused, and withdrew his fingers just enough to avoid the gland. House swore luridly, and Wilson fully believed then that the man had grown up with a Marine colonel for a father. Only soldiers and sailors cursed like that. "Creative," he said.
"Fuck you," House spat. "Bastard. How long are you going to drive me to the edge and then back off? Am I going to go home sporting a boner in my jeans?"
"I'm not that cruel," Wilson said reassuringly. "But I do want to see what it takes to deprive you of the power of speech."
"Ah, so this is a game to you," House said sarcastically. "And the whole thing is -- " The words choked off suddenly as Wilson thrust his two fingers in again, both fingertips finding the prostate. House's fists clenched into the bedsheets, white-knuckled, a raw moan cascading from his open mouth. "Ahhh yeah. Mmmm. Never mind. I take it all back."
"Thought so," Wilson said. "You need to relax a little more or I'm going to wind up hurting you." He was slowing down, gentling the in-out movement of his fingers. House realized he was right. There was still that slight burn alongside the mind-numbing pleasure, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on relaxing pelvic and lumbar muscles that were clenched because they were used to compensating for his leg. "You've really never done this before? Not even to yourself?"
"Never had a reason to," House answered simply. "Logistics of it with a bad leg are difficult anyway."
"Seems unlike you not to explore," Wilson mused, watching House's toes curl as he gently eased a third finger in with the first two. "I would have figured you to have quite a few kinks."
"Who says I don't?" House replied. "Shoving things into my ass just doesn't happen to be one of them oh Jesus..." House was pushing back against his hand again, cautiously but eagerly.
"I think you might be wrong about that," Wilson observed with a smile. House's response was a guttural moan and a subtle flexing of his shoulders as he tried to both press into the bed and thrust backward onto the three fingers impaling him. Apparently he had reached the threshold for verbal coherence. Wilson chuckled quietly, amused and pleased that he could elicit such a reaction in a man for whom language was a precise and easily summoned ability.
House growled again, vaguely irritated by Wilson's smugness. It shouldn't have been attractive on him, but it was. Wilson didn't laugh enough, especially not lately, and he had a beautiful smile that House had always secretly admired as one of his best qualities. He was trying to come up with something incisive to say about the laugh, though, and the fullness inside him was elbowing everything else out of his perception until only the delight of it remained.
"Sh...shut...up..." was the best House could manage. "Oh..."
Wilson's heat loomed over him suddenly, free hand burrowing into his hair as Wilson leaned down to kiss hungrily between his shoulders. The fingers inside him were shifting minutely, an almost imperceptible twist and thrust that made his breath catch. He had never experienced anything so intimate, so utterly overwhelming in its intensity. It felt good, yes, but it was the fierceness of it, the strangeness, that was addicting.
The wet kisses down his spine were urgent and breathless, and he wondered what Wilson was feeling that had caused that quick change in mood. He wasn't used to this kind of passion from Wilson. Strength, yes. Determination. But it was always quiet and restrained. There was something frantic about the way Wilson stroked a hand down his ribs, teeth nipping at the top of his buttocks. He felt the brush of soft hair, then sandpaper roughness of a cheek, and realized Wilson was rubbing his face against his back. All the while, the fingers that penetrated him were gentle and measured.
Wilson pulled on his shoulder, and House rolled over again as the fingers slid out of him. He barely had a moment to lock gazes with the younger man before he was being kissed savagely. He kissed back, letting his mouth be opened by a needy tongue. Just as quickly, the mouth moved away to rake down his neck, tasting his clavicle, sucking hard on one nipple until he groaned with pleasure. Wilson's lips slid lower, nipping lightly at his stomach and hipbone, laving the length of his cock until he arched into the promise of being sucked.
"Please," House whispered, caught by the incredible weight and heat of Wilson's want. /God, he's practically orgasmic just from touching me./ House himself was trembling, a sympathetic longing mingled with his own unrelieved arousal. Wilson made a low noise at his plea, a pained whimper, and nuzzled his erection. "James. Look at me." Wilson raised his head, drawn by that serious, affectionate voice. "You want to fuck me?" House asked quietly. His eyes were unreadable, but there was nothing cold about his tone. It was, if anything, accepting. Wilson closed his eyes, bowing his head for a moment to hold back the sudden growl that wanted to come out of his throat at House's question.
"Yes," he rasped, and House could hear him panting. Sable eyes as hot as summer earth lifted to him. "Yes, I want to fuck you."
"Then do it," House said.
"I don't want to do something you won't enjoy," Wilson said softly. House startled him with a laugh that held too much pleasure to be considered sarcastic.
"Do I look like I'm not enjoying this?" he demanded, flushed, sweaty. He pounded his head back down into the pillow. "Now fuck me for Christ's sake. I'm dying here."
"On your stomach," Wilson demanded after a heartbeat's worth of internal deliberation. He still looked unsure, but the need in his voice made House's gut clench. "It'll be more comfortable for you that way." House obeyed quickly, surprising himself with the urgency of his own desire for this. Wilson made him lift up for a moment to put another pillow under his hips to support his leg.
Then there was warmth against the insides of his thighs as Wilson got between them. Two fingers entered him again, and it was a lot less painful this time. He'd missed the sensation of fullness even in the scant minutes since Wilson had withdrawn them. "Relax as much as you can," Wilson said, his voice almost a whisper. "Let the pillow take your weight. Tell me if you need to change position."
All three suggestions were stupid, House thought, but he said nothing because the delight of having those fingers inside him again took all the passion out of his annoyance. He felt more cold lube dribbled against his skin, and it quickly warmed with the friction. Wilson's free hand was rubbing his lower back, massaging out the tension there. House realized his gut was a hot ball of anxiety, and he tried to let the touch soothe him. The pillow under him was bunched up enough that he could go limp against it, relieving his knees and buttocks of the need to support his weight. /Okay, maybe they weren't stupid suggestions after all./
Wilson felt the way House's body shifted, taut muscles becoming more supple, limbs letting gravity draw them to the bed. He added a third finger very slowly, rotating them back and forth to make the passage easier.
"I don't think I get any more ready than this," House murmured. Wilson's massage of his back had taken on a note of nervousness -- perhaps wary of the fact that House was nowhere near what would usually be considered relaxed.
"Okay," Wilson said, exhaling tautly. "You'll feel the reflex to void -- just try to relax through it and don't push." He nestled closer, angling himself carefully with one hand, and pressed forward slowly, firmly.
The head of his cock was a more oppressive presence than just fingers, even if the width was the same. House made a low sound that was of indeterminate emotion, and Wilson forced himself to stop just inside. The rectum had two sphincters, and the inner one was involuntary. That was always the hardest part to get past. He rubbed his clean hand up and down House's back, reassuring him as much as trying to relax the muscles there. "Deep breaths," he said softly, and House seemed to let out a lungful. "Does it hurt?"
"Yeah," House admitted. "Feels weird as hell, too. Don't stop. Just...real slow."
"I will," Wilson promised. "I won't move until you tell me it's okay. As slow as you want."
It took a good ten minutes for Wilson to get himself fully sheathed. His thighs were shaking a bit from the effort of staying slow and steady. He drew a deep breath, leaning his head back for a moment to savor being completely inside the man he had loved for what seemed like years. Perhaps it had been years. God, it felt so good and House was a vision of power and maleness beneath him. Now that he could relax and just rest inside his friend, he took a closer look at House's face.
He could see House's profile. Eyes shut, mouth open in a silent cry -- but it was pleasure, pleasure that suffused his features. Wilson was used to seeing pain etched in House's face, a sort of closed tightness that other emotions had to fight to get through. But this was a slack delight, an absence of pain. Wilson swallowed hard, unmoving, realizing that House had yet to speak. Instead there was this...surrender, not just to Wilson but to himself.
One of House's hands moved, releasing its death grip on the sheets and sliding back to give him some leverage. Wilson gave a soft yip of surprise as House suddenly pushed back against him. A low sigh rolled out of House's chest. Wilson took this as a sign that House wanted him to move, so he grabbed the man's hips and pushed deep. The room's quiet broke with the sound of twin moans.
"Again," House rasped, barely intelligible against the mattress. "Just like that."
Wilson withdrew an inch or two, carefully, gently, then slid deep again. The angle must have been just right -- House kept absolutely still, another low moan resonating in the bed. Another slow, intense thrust. "God...fuck...right there, that's so perfect," House sighed.
It was an easy, unhurried rocking, Wilson pulling House firmly to him as he rose up slightly with each thrust. House was almost totally relaxed except for providing some resistance for Wilson to use. Something had changed in the past few minutes, and Wilson realized just how closed House was most of the time. Opening his body required a level of trust, but what House was letting him see was more than what was required just for sex.
/He's not letting me fuck him anymore. He's letting me make love to him,/ Wilson thought, shocked. Tears stung his eyes unexpectedly, and he let them fall because he was too busy with both hands to wipe them away. I love you, he mouthed silently. House was already saying it, just not with his voice. He felt a shudder pass through the older man's body, and glanced at House's face attentively.
"I'm gonna come," House whispered. "Oh Jesus it's big, oh..."
"Do it," Wilson breathed, amazed. It was rare for a man to orgasm just from being penetrated, at least in his experience. Not to mention that this was House's first time. But they had been slow and careful, and House's delight in the lazy lovemaking was tangible heat in the room. Muscles were tightening under his hands, House's body shivering in time with soft, incredulous moans.
"James...oh right there, right there. God I can't believe this -- James -- " He cried out, louder than Wilson had expected, and then he was bucking into the pillows in long, agonized pulses. "Fuck!" He ground his cock into the pillow, Wilson still thrusting in that perfect spot. He could feel himself clenching around Wilson, eliciting a gasp from the other man.
"Shit, I'm coming again," Wilson groaned.
"Come on, Jimmy," House panted, grinning as Wilson's thrusts got rougher, prolonging his own orgasm. Wilson rode over the edge almost soundlessly, gasping deeply. For a few seconds they were flying together, and Wilson barked out a laugh of pure joy.
Wilson was still panting when he shifted to withdraw from House. Endorphins were still flooding House's veins and pulling out now would cause less discomfort than waiting to lose his erection. Also, he was concerned that House's leg might require some change in position, and he didn't want to be in the way. House grunted as he slipped free, and Wilson knew well the sensation of sudden emptiness that sometimes caused. He rubbed House's back, then bent down to kiss heated skin gently.
"Stay put and I'll clean you up," Wilson murmured, sounding satisfied rather than embarrassed.
"Mrnh," House said. His muscles were water, completely limp on the bed and weighing a hundred pounds each. Wilson came back with a warm washcloth and wiped the oily lube from his back and rump. It had the side-effect of cleaning some sweat away, and the evaporating dampness was pleasantly cool.
"Gonna turn you over," Wilson said, and House helped as much as he could until he was on his back and could resume his imitation of cataplexia. His belly was wet from his climax, and he purred low as Wilson cleaned him there, too. The younger man was making quiet sounds of contentment, probably not even aware he was doing so, and House listened while he waited for his voluntary gross motor skills to return. Wilson grabbed the soaked pillow and turned it over on the bed, damp side down. "You get that one," he said wryly.
"Usshl," House mumbled, which Wilson took to be an extremely lazy utterance of "asshole". He smirked, then got up and went back to the bathroom. House could hear water running from the sink, and guessed that Wilson was cleaning himself up now that his lover was taken care of.
/Lover,/ he thought with odd clarity. /That's the right word, isn't it? Yes,/ he decided. /It is./
He had never felt like this after sex before. Empty. Full. Neither one uncomfortable. Just a delicious, exhausted limbo in which he felt no need to recover his composure or put his guard back up. It was simply too much effort right now, and he had nothing to hide from Wilson. /No desire to resume the facade because it never fooled him anyway./
When Wilson returned, he settled onto his side on the bed before realizing that the azure eyes were open and watching him silently. There was a small smile on House's face, weary and pleased. The smile was a good sign. He'd been afraid that panic would start to set in once the urgency of sex was gone. But House didn't look upset. In fact, the openness of his expression was somewhat unnerving.
"You need a pill?" Wilson asked mildly. House blinked at him slowly before drawing a deep breath for the energy to reply.
"Don't think so," he said. "Probably will in the morning, and not for my leg." Wilson laughed softly.
"There's no bleeding," he said easily. "I checked." He sounded proud of this fact.
"Could just mean you have a small dick," House mused, and Wilson snorted.
"Had to use three fingers to get you ready, remember?" he said, arching one eyebrow.
"Believe me, I remember," House said with feeling. He sighed gustily, a sound of satisfaction. "Sleep now," he demanded, and Wilson settled in next to him with a smile. He put one arm across House's belly possessively, and House shifted closer before they surrendered to exhaustion.
****
It was his leg that woke House the next morning, as usual. He fumbled for the night stand, searching for his Vicodin, momentarily confused when it wasn't at the height he expected and his hand encountered air. He forced one eye open and took in the warm, bland decor of Wilson's hotel room. The heavy curtains were drawn, but morning light made a sharp glow at the top edge.
/Oh. Right./ His pills were still in his jeans pocket, on the floor. Turning on his side to reach out of bed for them, he paused as an ache made itself known in his rectum. /Oh. Right./ But his jeans turned up empty, at least of pills, and a twinge of panic lanced through him. /Where -- / Then his gaze caught on the familiar amber bottle, which was on the night stand with a sheet of hotel stationery under it. Bottled water rested next to it. Wilson must have fished the medication out for him. He sat up carefully, wincing a little. Sitting down was going to be fun for a few days. He was thirsty, and the water was welcome as he took two pills. The note was in Wilson's neat, blocky script:
Went out to get a newspaper
and some coffee for both of
us. Back soon.
The note wasn't signed, not that it needed a signature since it could only have been one person. But House smirked at the mental image of Wilson agonizing over how to sign it (Wilson? James? Just an initial?) before giving up and leaving it blank.
House waited a few minutes for the Vicodin to start taking effect, then carefully levered himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. He stretched his entire body slowly, and used both hands to massage his right thigh before attempting to stand. His cane was propped against the night stand -- another thoughtful gesture from Wilson.
/Not bad,/ House thought, gingerly testing some weight on his bad leg. /A hot shower and it'll be fine./ He ambled to the bathroom, amused at the prospect of smelling like Wilson's shampoo and soap when he was done.
****
Wilson came through the door a while later juggling two large cups of Starbucks coffee and a newspaper. House's coffee habits were oddly normal compared to his own. Wilson liked his to be sweet, which House declared to be capable of making Wilson's dentist weep from afar.
The bed was empty, and he had noted on the way in that the bathroom door was closed. He sighed. House would probably steal some of his clothes to wear. He had a mental image of House in one of his dress shirts, and his breath caught. The man did clean up nice. He had just reached the table in the room and set the coffee and newspaper down when he heard the bathroom door open behind him.
"I got you one of those ridiculous mocha/whipped cream things you claim to like," Wilson said. House's uneven gait moved closer to him across the carpet. "And I don't recommend reading the front page of the paper unless you want to be pissed off."
Wilson jumped when he felt two large palms cup his buttocks, sliding over his slacks for a moment before coming around his torso to embrace him.
"I never read the paper," House said. His lean body pressed up against Wilson's back, warm and...naked. "The news is already twelve hours old." One hand rubbed across Wilson's chest, fingers slipping between the buttons to find his bare skin beneath. Wilson moaned softly, leaning his head back to let House kiss his neck.
"Ancient history, hm?" Wilson said, his voice already rough. He was smiling, surprised and pleased by this attention from House.
"Yup." House rocked his hips gently into Wilson's rump, feeling and hearing the other man gasp. "Internet's faster." His other hand drifted down between Wilson's legs and massaged the soft cock there. "I need to know the instant Britney Spears does anything."
"Do not invoke that name if you want this to go anywhere," Wilson warned. He realized he could smell spearmint toothpaste. He scowled. "Did you use my toothbrush?" he asked incredulously.
"A little late to be worried about exchanging bodily fluids," House replied.
"Using another person's toothbrush is just...gross," Wilson said.
"Do you really want to be talking about that right now?" House wondered. He was using the backs of his knuckles to stroke up and down the fly of Wilson's slacks. He could feel the presence there beginning to swell and harden. Wilson cursed softly and gripped the table where he was standing.
"This isn't...still you apologizing, is it?" Wilson asked hesitantly.
"Nope," House murmured against his neck. "Finished that last night."
"So...what's this?"
"Mmm, think it's called being horny," House said, nuzzling him and then nipping his earlobe. "Are you objecting?"
"Uh...no..." Wilson said, although it came out more as a groan.
"Didn't get much of a chance to touch you last night," House mused, left hand roaming across Wilson's chest and stomach. "Definite oversight."
"I wasn't sure...you'd still be here when I got back this morning," Wilson admitted. He expected House to stop fondling him, to hesitate when confronted with the emotional foundation of the previous night's activities. But the hand between his thighs continued to explore and tease, finding the head of his penis and squeezing lightly.
"You're the one who took the risk," House said, his voice low. "By admitting you were in love with me."
"And that...made it okay for you to come here," Wilson reasoned slowly. "Because it was a safe bet that I wouldn't freak out, even if I said no. I'd already bared my soul, so it was unlikely that I'd mock you if you bared yours." House took a deep breath, silent for a moment. His embrace was warm and intimate -- Wilson had never expected that House might be physically clingy in a relationship. It was...nice. It was very nice.
"Yeah," House said finally. "Something like that."
House unzipped Wilson's pants, not even bothering with the belt, and snuck his hand inside. He found soft boxers, and navigated through the fly of those to pull out a thickening, eager half-erection. Wilson's thighs started to shake, and House pressed him more firmly against the table. The cock in his hand was smooth and hot, firming quickly as he gave lazy strokes. "You look so good like this," House murmured against his throat. "All your clothes on, freshly shaved, coming apart as I touch you."
"Jesus, House," Wilson sighed, starting to rock into his grasp, seeking friction against House's palm and fingers. House wouldn't let him have much, controlling the pace to something right on the edge of 'enough'. Wilson started to keen low in his throat. "God, faster," he panted. "Please..."
"But you sound so hot when I tease you," House complained, smirking. James was almost writhing in his arms now, delicious and flustered. He knew the slow speed was going to have some nice results -- he could feel the erection throb faintly on the in-stroke. /He came twice last night and he's still horny as fuck../ Wilson's keening got louder, his entire body tightening up a bit more with each slide of House's hand over him. "Come on. I want to see you come all over the place. Just do it, right here."
"Fuck," Wilson gasped, beginning to pant hard. "Fuck."
He felt James's cock twitch, and suddenly it was pulsing gently, steaming milky threads over his hand in a relaxed way. Then Wilson moaned, the orgasm itself catching up to the urgency of the ejaculation. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah yeah there -- " James convulsed, his cock spraying hard halfway across the table with renewed eagerness. House stroked him firmly, the semen becoming lube over the head and shaft, and Wilson spasmed again with a low cry.
"Yeah, that's it," House whispered. "All of it, come on." He got a few more pulses before Wilson made a sound of complaint -- too sensitive. House let him go carefully, then wiped his hand on Wilson's clean shirt.
"Jerk," Wilson sighed. House chuckled. "Okay, that is disgusting."
"What?" House said.
"Look at the newspaper."
The paper Wilson had put on the table was covered in wet streaks, some of them still visibly pearly. But Wilson didn't move from House's arms, and hummed quietly when House nuzzled and kissed his neck. House shifted his hips a little when he felt Wilson's hand reaching back to fondle him.
"Little too soon for me after last night," House murmured as Wilson's warm grasp enclosed his half-hard penis.
"Can I suck you anyway?" Wilson asked unexpectedly, his voice rough with arousal. House considered.
"As long as you're okay with the fact it probably won't go anywhere."
"Not a problem," Wilson said, turning around to take in House's fantastic nudity before pushing him back toward the bed. House didn't have his cane, so Wilson was careful. But the scar on his leg wasn't interesting at all compared to the overall picture. /God he looks incredible. He's so body-shy, even before the infarction, and he's just...magnificent./ He made House sit on the edge of the bed, then fell to his knees with a groan.
"Jesus," House breathed. "How can you -- " Wilson lunged for him, hot wet mouth taking him to the root, hands grabbing his ass. "Unh, Christ...how can you be this fucking horny?"
Wilson just growled around his penis, sucking and licking him with truly indecent relish. He leaned back on his hands, unable to look away from the other man's bobbing head and wet lips. The dark eyes met his for a moment, filled with a lust that went deeper than anything their bodies might be able to address. He felt himself harden suddenly, and Wilson smiled.
And honestly, it felt absolutely delicious. There was nothing in the world like having his cock sucked, especially when he wasn't likely to be able to orgasm. He was able to stay hard and sensitive for a long time, able to enjoy the attention and savor the heat and slickness. House purred deep in his chest. "Shit, that's good. Let's just stay here and you can do this all day." Wilson chuckled.
"Up," Wilson panted, drawing back just enough to speak. "Onto the bed." House obliged, reclining on the bed and watching Wilson climb on the bed with him and turn around to face House's feet in what was basically half of a 69 position. The position allowed him to deep throat House's cock perfectly, and House arched his back in appreciation.
"Holy crap," he gasped. "Uhhhhh yeah. You know you're going to have to teach me how you do that."
Wilson got comfortable on his side, in for the long haul because he loved doing this and was going to do it as long as House would let him. House was humming quietly, stretching and sighing and showing no sign of getting bored as the minutes went by.
After about twenty minutes, House spoke.
"You can stop if you're getting tired," he said. Wilson let go to glance back at him.
"I...was afraid you were getting tired of it," Wilson replied.
"Nope," House said. He wasn't lying -- his cock was hard and warm, definitely not the response of a man not enjoying himself. "Vicodin makes it hard for me to climax sometimes...but it still feels good. If you're okay with doing this."
"I'm very, very okay with this," Wilson murmured, smiling before devouring him again.
House felt him shift on the bed, and noticed for the first time that Wilson hadn't zipped himself up from before. The very tip of his penis was just peeking out of the fly.
"Christ, Wilson, are you hard again?" House said incredulously. He saw Wilson blush, and he grinned as he reached out to tickle the swollen glans of Wilson's penis. Wilson flinched and moaned. "Ha! You are! No wonder you didn't want to move back in with me. You couldn't whack off as much as you wanted to. Are you always like this?"
"Not always," Wilson mumbled before returning to pleasuring House.
"You mean...it's me?" House said. The blush on Wilson's face was spreading down his neck, and House experienced a flood of pride and some other emotion he wasn't sure about. He used both hands this time, unbuckling Wilson's pants and coaxing the other man into helping him get them off. "Much better," House declared, closing his palm around the cock that was once again hard just for him. Wilson grunted and thrust into his grip. "Just relax there, Jimmy. No rush."
And then he scooted across the bed to close the space between them. Wilson moaned, high and loud, as warm, bristly lips slid down over his aching erection. House hummed to himself, beginning to slowly rock in and out of James's mouth even as he took James as deep as he could into his own. This was nice. Primal. Wilson was whimpering, breaths fast and rough as he fought to keep his mouth around House and not pull away to just howl with delight.
Wilson couldn't stop the noises coming out of his throat, however much they embarrassed him. He wanted to stay like this forever; this perfect hardness in his mouth, the unbearable pleasure of House sucking him in those few precious seconds when he knew he was going to come hard into the other man's throat. He clutched at House's legs as the flame rushed toward him, his entire body squirming in ecstasy.
The flood was his entire world for a few heartbeats. His voice wasn't his own anymore, sobbing and laughing and moaning as he spilled himself down House's eager throat. And House was coming, thrusting up against his lips and grabbing blindly at his ass, still going even as Wilson himself fell gently back to earth. Wilson pulled out of House's mouth, sated, and smiled as House kept arching into him.
"Oh fuck, James! Shit..." It seemed to wrench his very being, slow to leave even once his cock was spent. Tremors rippled through him as he panted on the bed and Wilson licked him gently. "God, I didn't think I could..." His hand wearily ran through Wilson's damp hair, petting him. "God."
Wilson was making a sound against his hip, a breathless gasping, that worried House a little. /Oh hell, I hope he isn't crying. Even if it's good crying, I completely suck at dealing with it./ But then Wilson rolled onto his back, exhausted, and House could see the easy, joyful grin on the other man's face.
"Hmph," House teased. "Proud of yourself, aren't you?" Wilson's head turned toward him, and he was struck by how much younger Wilson looked when he was happy.
"Shouldn't I be?" Wilson asked, smiling broadly. "And yes, it's you."
"It's me what?"
"It's you that makes me this horny," Wilson said, answering House's question from before. "You're beautiful and sexy and right now I have too many endorphins flooding my body to care how stupid that sounds, or how much you're going to poke fun at me for it later." He was still smiling.
"I'll admit I think you're nuts," House mused. "Since there is no measure by which I can be considered beautiful." Wilson's hand came to rest on his ribs lightly, just stroking.
"You're wrong about that," Wilson said. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so. You just can't see it when you look in the mirror. A bit rough, maybe, with the whole 'I shave when I feel like it' look. But gorgeous all the same."
"Whatever." House sat up slowly, feeling energized rather than sleepy from their lovemaking. "I require coffee," he said. "Then breakfast."
"Coffee's over there, getting cold," Wilson said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the table. There was something odd about his tone this time, and House glanced at him.
"That's what kitchenette microwaves are for," House said, lifting his right leg over the side of the bed so he could get up. He hobbled across the room, leaning on the table with one hand as he tasted the coffee. He made a face. "This one's yours. And no amount of microwaving is going to fix it, either."
Wilson didn't answer, and House looked over at him, wondering if he had dozed off. But Wilson's eyes were open, gazing up at the ceiling. He felt a low ache of empathy in the pit of his stomach. He knew was Wilson was thinking, and that was just no good. "Hey," he said quietly, hesitantly. "I was thinking...maybe we could go out later. For dinner."
He saw Wilson's brow furrow, and then Wilson craned his head back in an attempt to meet House's gaze.
"You mean...like a date?" he said.
"Not just 'like' a date," House said. "But an actual, honest to goodness date." Wilson rolled off the bed suddenly, looking both ridiculous and hot wearing his shirt but no pants or boxers. House smiled faintly as Wilson came toward him, knowing that his own nudity was far more absurd. But for once, he didn't feel self-conscious about it, not even about the scar on his leg.
"You mean that, don't you?" Wilson said wonderingly, his joyful smile beginning to return.
"You don't have to sound so shocked," House murmured, dropping his gaze shyly. He was startled when Wilson ducked down to catch his lips in a gentle kiss. He kissed back, somewhat to his own surprise because this whole thing was just so weird and so comfortable at the same time. Wilson smiled against his mouth, and was still smiling when they broke apart.
"I think we should put some clothes on if we're going out to breakfast," Wilson said.
"Yeah yeah," House sighed. "Laws and all that, depriving the world of my fantastic ass." Wilson laughed as he moved away to find a clean shirt. House meant it as a self-deprecating joke. But he did, in fact, have a fantastic ass, and would never believe Wilson if Wilson said so aloud.
They left the hotel together, unbothered by the rain that was still coming down since yesterday. Their sun had already come out.
The End
Part: 2/2
Author: A. Manley Haight (ralaegidius)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: House/Wilson
Prompt: 095. House/Wilson -- punishment/apology sex for the Tritter debacle, you decide who is the one apologizing ("get_house_laid" Round 2).
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: This story is not in any way intended to infringe on copyrights held by David Shore, the Fox Broadcasting Corporation, or any other legitimate copyright holders of "House, MD".
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"I could just take you right to the edge and not let you come," Wilson mused as he stroked.
"You could," House agreed, his eyes unreadable even as he pushed into Wilson's grip.
"You did say I could take what I wanted," Wilson continued, letting House fuck his hand and tightening his grip slightly on the in-stroke.
"Yep." House closed his eyes briefly on the next thrust. "God."
"Keep still," Wilson said softly.
"What?" House was breathless.
"Don't thrust. Don't move. Just...let me." Wilson let go for a moment, watching House's incredulous, aroused expression. He could read House's thought clearly: I'm not sure it's possible for me to be still, and you're insane to be asking, but I'll try because I said I'd do whatever you wanted. House's body quieted, thighs quivering but his pelvis resting fully on the bed. Panting breaths slowed, deepened. House swallowed hard, then nodded tightly to indicate he was ready for Wilson to touch him again. Wilson laid his palm on the shaft, feeling the heat rising from House's body. A shudder rippled up House's legs into his belly, but he didn't move.
Wilson's hand closing around his cock, however, made him suck in a sharp breath. A long stroke from that deft hand, and House pressed his lips together tightly. He was breathing hard through his nose, trying desperately not to push into that sweet touch. He was the sort of man who was cursed to be horny but not easily aroused. He needed that mental component, the imperative of having various psychological buttons pushed.
Apparently, Wilson pushed every one of them, including a few he hadn't known he possessed. The man's sable eyes devoured him just with a look, and he couldn't stop staring. No porn video, no sex magazine, nothing was as hot as the way James was looking at him right now. And the sensual touch on his penis was more than just physical stimulation. He could feel Wilson's desire for him, the trust between them, the regret he couldn't voice and the affection Wilson was afraid to speak aloud. Fuck, it felt so good. Everything. The intimacy, the comfort, the incredible pleasure that was about to spill over.
"Wilson," he rasped. It was a warning, a plea.
"Shh," Wilson said gently, stilling his hand. House was right on the edge -- he squeezed firmly and savored the moan that came out of the other man's throat. "Don't come. Not yet." House made a sound somewhere between and laugh and a sob, but didn't voice one word of complaint or demand. "Feels good?"
"Fuck yes," House gasped.
"How long has it been since you last came?"
"What is this, Twenty fucking Questions?" House asked. He regretted the antagonism in the next moment, when Wilson let go of his cock entirely. "'S been...I dunno...couple weeks," he offered desperately. "Everything going on with Tritter." Wilson nodded understandingly. His fingers returned to House's taut erection, lightly stroking up and down the satiny length. House exhaled sharply with a grunt, his eyes closing in relief.
"What do you want more than anything, right now?" Wilson teased. He expected a plea for orgasm, for a touch of some kind. The way House hesitated intrigued him, and then the blue eyes opened again to look straight into his.
"I want us to be okay," House gasped. His left hand let go of its death grip on the bedcovers and came up to lay the back of knuckles gently against Wilson's arm. Not trying to grasp, or beg. Just that soft, soft spread of fingers on the fine hairs of his arm while the rest of House's body was wound up like a steel coil, sweaty and starving.
"Oh, House," Wilson whispered. "We're okay. It's okay."
"Be kinda nice to come, then," House replied, licking his upper lip. Wilson let go of his penis again, and a groan of frustration tore free from deep in House's chest. Wilson chuckled, and House laughed breathlessly. This was a game, a delicious, pleasurable game between them like so many other games they had played in their friendship.
"Turn over," Wilson said. The shift in House's expression was so fast it took his breath away. Anxiety, questioning, a deep uncertainty that reminded Wilson just how inexperienced House was with men -- and, apparently, some aspects of his own solitary pleasure. "Do you trust me?"
That simple question made House visibly relax a great deal. He didn't answer, but merely moved to comply with the instruction. Wilson shoved a pillow under his pelvis to raise his ass up in the air a little, and to give some support to his bad leg. It also gave him something to rub his cock against, and he purred lowly, buttocks clenching as he pushed into the soft mass. Wilson fought back a curse at the inviting sight of those strong muscles bunching up. House had powerful legs, even the right one, because all the other muscles compensated for the ones that weren't there.
The bed shifted as Wilson leaned over him toward the table by the bed. House evened out his breathing carefully, his head turned to the side to watch Wilson take a bottle of warming lube out of the drawer.
"Just happen to be prepared?" he asked wryly. He heard Wilson snort softly.
"For all those nights when my companion is my left hand?" Wilson replied, amused. "Yes." House gave a low hum, smiling into the pillow. "Let me go get a towel."
The mattress creaked momentarily as Wilson got up. He came back with both a towel and a damp washcloth. House wasn't entirely sure about this whole thing...what Wilson was probably going to do to him. Wilson's easy manner made it less terrifying -- this might be new for House, but not Wilson. House was willing to surrender himself to Wilson's experience. Wilson was nothing if not competent in everything he chose to pursue. "You okay?" came Wilson's low, gentle voice as he returned to the bed and settled himself.
"Yeah," House said roughly, and it became true as Wilson's palm stroked down his back. He heard the bottle's flip-top opened, a faint gooey sound and then the lid snapped shut again. /Breathe. Just breathe. You know Wilson won't hurt you./ The sticky, slick sound of hands being rubbed together. Nothing could have prepared him for the palm on his left buttock, and he flinched hard. The hand stilled immediately, warm gel damp on his skin. He realized he was panting, and fought to slow it down. Wilson must have been waiting for that, and the palm moved again, sliding over the firm shape of his rump.
A moan uncurled from deep in his belly, surprising even him. It felt inexplicably good to have his ass rubbed, and Wilson's other hand soon joined the first in a slow, pleasant massage. Wilson's thumbs were gradually moving inward, toward the cleft of his ass. It was weird. Sensitive, almost ticklish, alien in spite of his familiarity with his own touch when bathing. One slick thumb finally slid over his anus, and he shied forward involuntarily with a gasp.
"Wilson -- "
"I know," Wilson said soothingly. "I don't have to if you don't want it."
"As many DREs as I've had, you'd think I'd be used to it," House rasped, attempting a casual tone and failing completely. Wilson chuckled softly.
"It's not the same."
"Yeah, I noticed that."
"You ever get hard from a DRE?" Wilson wondered.
"Nope," House said honestly. "Most unarousing thing I can think of that involves me dropping my pants and being fondled."
"And is this...okay?" Wilson asked cautiously. He was still stroking casually with one thumb, but not quite making contact with the anus like before.
"Wouldn't be lying here with my bare ass in the air otherwise," House said. "Just..." He exhaled tensely. "Go slow, okay?"
"Sure. Slow as you want. I need to know, though..." Wilson hesitated, as if fearful of the answer. "Does this feel good, or are you just tolerating it because I'm asking it of you?"
"You kinda startled me before," House murmured. "It's...unfamiliar. But...yeah. It's good."
"I'm going to do it again, all right?" Wilson said. House grunted assent, and braced himself when he felt more lube dribbled between his buttocks. Slow, sensuous thumb again, starting at the top of the crack where the skin was highly sensitive. He shivered, and the thumb pressed downward, between firm muscles that trembled with the effort of not trapping the finger and denying access.
Warm, slick thumb pad over the delicate skin of his anus, sending little bolts of lightning through him and making him twitch with each stroke. The only relevant body memory his brain coughed up was, indeed, a prostate exam. It was the only thing even remotely similar that he had experienced before. Ironically, it didn't help, because a clinical exam wasn't supposed to feel good, and the doctor performing it would have been more interested in palpating his anatomy than in providing pleasure. /Of course, there are probably a few who try to do both and get off on it,/ House thought involuntarily. He wondered vaguely if Wilson had ever performed a prostate exam on anyone in a professional capacity.
"Stop thinking," Wilson chided, and House let out a surprised whuff of breath.
"Can't help it," House said. "Brain won't shut up."
"Hm. Obviously I'm doing this wrong, then."
House wasn't sure exactly what Wilson did to change his technique -- possibly something to do with timing, or the delicacy of the touch on his anus and the surrounding hands on his ass. Maybe it was the deliberateness of it, the focus Wilson was giving toward trying to find a way in through House's unintentional emotional armor. Whatever the reason, a flicker of pleasure found one of the nerve pathways up his spine to his nucleus accumbens, and he grunted.
"There," he murmured. Wilson hmmed again and carefully pushed his buttocks farther apart. It was a struggle to allow it, because it was such a vulnerable part of his body, but having it teased like this was making him breathe out tiny moans with each exhale. He spread his legs without thinking, heard Wilson inhale sharply in surprise, and pushed back against the touch. "More," he rumbled, nostrils flaring as his cock rubbed the pillow under him. His hands clenched into the bedsheets, giving him leverage, and his back arched at the flare of need that ripped through him in a scalding wave.
Wilson nudged the slick thumb into him, answering his demand. It was an invasion, private and wonderful, and burned a little even through the smooth lubricant. He gave a choked gasp of astonishment -- this was nothing like a prostate exam, not anymore. Wilson wiggled his finger slightly, and House panted in echo of the flood of delicious ripples it sent through him.
"Okay?" Wilson asked worriedly. House's answer was a low growl that reverberated through the mattress. His hand shaking, Wilson withdrew his thumb slightly, then nudged again in a tiny thrust. The growl intensified, House's body flexing like a lazy cat in warm sunlight.
"Yes," came the hoarse response. House knew that Wilson couldn't afford to misinterpret his reactions, so the verbal consent was needed. But, fuck, it was hard to talk just now. The thumb started to move in small circles, stretching him ever so slightly, stimulating the highly innervated skin there. He wasn't sure exactly when this had become pleasurable, but God it was liquid flame through his veins. "Christ, more."
Wilson couldn't believe he heard it at first. But House's skin was hot and damp in the room's low light, gleaming with sweat, a pink flush spreading up to his nape. Wilson withdrew his thumb quickly, carefully, and replaced it with his first two fingers together. "Fuck!" House exclaimed, shoving back against the intrusion greedily. "Oh...Jesus..." Wilson could hear the incredulity, the amazement of this sensation. He knew it himself, although it had been quite a while since he'd experienced it.
"Nice, isn't it?" Wilson said, his voice having dropped almost an octave. The hard muscles in House's back rippled and that low growl reached him again. "And maybe...this..." He pressed deep suddenly, turning his hand to search for that prostate with the surety of a doctor's knowledge. It was small, and deceptively firm, but he knew that a gentle touch was the best to start.
The choked yell that House let out made him grin, and he had to move quickly to keep up as House bucked against him. His finger darted lightly over the bump deep inside, tiny flicking strokes that made House's entire body flinch with each one.
"Oh God...God," House panted. "I think...I'm gonna come..."
"No, you're not," Wilson said, amused, and withdrew his fingers just enough to avoid the gland. House swore luridly, and Wilson fully believed then that the man had grown up with a Marine colonel for a father. Only soldiers and sailors cursed like that. "Creative," he said.
"Fuck you," House spat. "Bastard. How long are you going to drive me to the edge and then back off? Am I going to go home sporting a boner in my jeans?"
"I'm not that cruel," Wilson said reassuringly. "But I do want to see what it takes to deprive you of the power of speech."
"Ah, so this is a game to you," House said sarcastically. "And the whole thing is -- " The words choked off suddenly as Wilson thrust his two fingers in again, both fingertips finding the prostate. House's fists clenched into the bedsheets, white-knuckled, a raw moan cascading from his open mouth. "Ahhh yeah. Mmmm. Never mind. I take it all back."
"Thought so," Wilson said. "You need to relax a little more or I'm going to wind up hurting you." He was slowing down, gentling the in-out movement of his fingers. House realized he was right. There was still that slight burn alongside the mind-numbing pleasure, and he closed his eyes to concentrate on relaxing pelvic and lumbar muscles that were clenched because they were used to compensating for his leg. "You've really never done this before? Not even to yourself?"
"Never had a reason to," House answered simply. "Logistics of it with a bad leg are difficult anyway."
"Seems unlike you not to explore," Wilson mused, watching House's toes curl as he gently eased a third finger in with the first two. "I would have figured you to have quite a few kinks."
"Who says I don't?" House replied. "Shoving things into my ass just doesn't happen to be one of them oh Jesus..." House was pushing back against his hand again, cautiously but eagerly.
"I think you might be wrong about that," Wilson observed with a smile. House's response was a guttural moan and a subtle flexing of his shoulders as he tried to both press into the bed and thrust backward onto the three fingers impaling him. Apparently he had reached the threshold for verbal coherence. Wilson chuckled quietly, amused and pleased that he could elicit such a reaction in a man for whom language was a precise and easily summoned ability.
House growled again, vaguely irritated by Wilson's smugness. It shouldn't have been attractive on him, but it was. Wilson didn't laugh enough, especially not lately, and he had a beautiful smile that House had always secretly admired as one of his best qualities. He was trying to come up with something incisive to say about the laugh, though, and the fullness inside him was elbowing everything else out of his perception until only the delight of it remained.
"Sh...shut...up..." was the best House could manage. "Oh..."
Wilson's heat loomed over him suddenly, free hand burrowing into his hair as Wilson leaned down to kiss hungrily between his shoulders. The fingers inside him were shifting minutely, an almost imperceptible twist and thrust that made his breath catch. He had never experienced anything so intimate, so utterly overwhelming in its intensity. It felt good, yes, but it was the fierceness of it, the strangeness, that was addicting.
The wet kisses down his spine were urgent and breathless, and he wondered what Wilson was feeling that had caused that quick change in mood. He wasn't used to this kind of passion from Wilson. Strength, yes. Determination. But it was always quiet and restrained. There was something frantic about the way Wilson stroked a hand down his ribs, teeth nipping at the top of his buttocks. He felt the brush of soft hair, then sandpaper roughness of a cheek, and realized Wilson was rubbing his face against his back. All the while, the fingers that penetrated him were gentle and measured.
Wilson pulled on his shoulder, and House rolled over again as the fingers slid out of him. He barely had a moment to lock gazes with the younger man before he was being kissed savagely. He kissed back, letting his mouth be opened by a needy tongue. Just as quickly, the mouth moved away to rake down his neck, tasting his clavicle, sucking hard on one nipple until he groaned with pleasure. Wilson's lips slid lower, nipping lightly at his stomach and hipbone, laving the length of his cock until he arched into the promise of being sucked.
"Please," House whispered, caught by the incredible weight and heat of Wilson's want. /God, he's practically orgasmic just from touching me./ House himself was trembling, a sympathetic longing mingled with his own unrelieved arousal. Wilson made a low noise at his plea, a pained whimper, and nuzzled his erection. "James. Look at me." Wilson raised his head, drawn by that serious, affectionate voice. "You want to fuck me?" House asked quietly. His eyes were unreadable, but there was nothing cold about his tone. It was, if anything, accepting. Wilson closed his eyes, bowing his head for a moment to hold back the sudden growl that wanted to come out of his throat at House's question.
"Yes," he rasped, and House could hear him panting. Sable eyes as hot as summer earth lifted to him. "Yes, I want to fuck you."
"Then do it," House said.
"I don't want to do something you won't enjoy," Wilson said softly. House startled him with a laugh that held too much pleasure to be considered sarcastic.
"Do I look like I'm not enjoying this?" he demanded, flushed, sweaty. He pounded his head back down into the pillow. "Now fuck me for Christ's sake. I'm dying here."
"On your stomach," Wilson demanded after a heartbeat's worth of internal deliberation. He still looked unsure, but the need in his voice made House's gut clench. "It'll be more comfortable for you that way." House obeyed quickly, surprising himself with the urgency of his own desire for this. Wilson made him lift up for a moment to put another pillow under his hips to support his leg.
Then there was warmth against the insides of his thighs as Wilson got between them. Two fingers entered him again, and it was a lot less painful this time. He'd missed the sensation of fullness even in the scant minutes since Wilson had withdrawn them. "Relax as much as you can," Wilson said, his voice almost a whisper. "Let the pillow take your weight. Tell me if you need to change position."
All three suggestions were stupid, House thought, but he said nothing because the delight of having those fingers inside him again took all the passion out of his annoyance. He felt more cold lube dribbled against his skin, and it quickly warmed with the friction. Wilson's free hand was rubbing his lower back, massaging out the tension there. House realized his gut was a hot ball of anxiety, and he tried to let the touch soothe him. The pillow under him was bunched up enough that he could go limp against it, relieving his knees and buttocks of the need to support his weight. /Okay, maybe they weren't stupid suggestions after all./
Wilson felt the way House's body shifted, taut muscles becoming more supple, limbs letting gravity draw them to the bed. He added a third finger very slowly, rotating them back and forth to make the passage easier.
"I don't think I get any more ready than this," House murmured. Wilson's massage of his back had taken on a note of nervousness -- perhaps wary of the fact that House was nowhere near what would usually be considered relaxed.
"Okay," Wilson said, exhaling tautly. "You'll feel the reflex to void -- just try to relax through it and don't push." He nestled closer, angling himself carefully with one hand, and pressed forward slowly, firmly.
The head of his cock was a more oppressive presence than just fingers, even if the width was the same. House made a low sound that was of indeterminate emotion, and Wilson forced himself to stop just inside. The rectum had two sphincters, and the inner one was involuntary. That was always the hardest part to get past. He rubbed his clean hand up and down House's back, reassuring him as much as trying to relax the muscles there. "Deep breaths," he said softly, and House seemed to let out a lungful. "Does it hurt?"
"Yeah," House admitted. "Feels weird as hell, too. Don't stop. Just...real slow."
"I will," Wilson promised. "I won't move until you tell me it's okay. As slow as you want."
It took a good ten minutes for Wilson to get himself fully sheathed. His thighs were shaking a bit from the effort of staying slow and steady. He drew a deep breath, leaning his head back for a moment to savor being completely inside the man he had loved for what seemed like years. Perhaps it had been years. God, it felt so good and House was a vision of power and maleness beneath him. Now that he could relax and just rest inside his friend, he took a closer look at House's face.
He could see House's profile. Eyes shut, mouth open in a silent cry -- but it was pleasure, pleasure that suffused his features. Wilson was used to seeing pain etched in House's face, a sort of closed tightness that other emotions had to fight to get through. But this was a slack delight, an absence of pain. Wilson swallowed hard, unmoving, realizing that House had yet to speak. Instead there was this...surrender, not just to Wilson but to himself.
One of House's hands moved, releasing its death grip on the sheets and sliding back to give him some leverage. Wilson gave a soft yip of surprise as House suddenly pushed back against him. A low sigh rolled out of House's chest. Wilson took this as a sign that House wanted him to move, so he grabbed the man's hips and pushed deep. The room's quiet broke with the sound of twin moans.
"Again," House rasped, barely intelligible against the mattress. "Just like that."
Wilson withdrew an inch or two, carefully, gently, then slid deep again. The angle must have been just right -- House kept absolutely still, another low moan resonating in the bed. Another slow, intense thrust. "God...fuck...right there, that's so perfect," House sighed.
It was an easy, unhurried rocking, Wilson pulling House firmly to him as he rose up slightly with each thrust. House was almost totally relaxed except for providing some resistance for Wilson to use. Something had changed in the past few minutes, and Wilson realized just how closed House was most of the time. Opening his body required a level of trust, but what House was letting him see was more than what was required just for sex.
/He's not letting me fuck him anymore. He's letting me make love to him,/ Wilson thought, shocked. Tears stung his eyes unexpectedly, and he let them fall because he was too busy with both hands to wipe them away. I love you, he mouthed silently. House was already saying it, just not with his voice. He felt a shudder pass through the older man's body, and glanced at House's face attentively.
"I'm gonna come," House whispered. "Oh Jesus it's big, oh..."
"Do it," Wilson breathed, amazed. It was rare for a man to orgasm just from being penetrated, at least in his experience. Not to mention that this was House's first time. But they had been slow and careful, and House's delight in the lazy lovemaking was tangible heat in the room. Muscles were tightening under his hands, House's body shivering in time with soft, incredulous moans.
"James...oh right there, right there. God I can't believe this -- James -- " He cried out, louder than Wilson had expected, and then he was bucking into the pillows in long, agonized pulses. "Fuck!" He ground his cock into the pillow, Wilson still thrusting in that perfect spot. He could feel himself clenching around Wilson, eliciting a gasp from the other man.
"Shit, I'm coming again," Wilson groaned.
"Come on, Jimmy," House panted, grinning as Wilson's thrusts got rougher, prolonging his own orgasm. Wilson rode over the edge almost soundlessly, gasping deeply. For a few seconds they were flying together, and Wilson barked out a laugh of pure joy.
Wilson was still panting when he shifted to withdraw from House. Endorphins were still flooding House's veins and pulling out now would cause less discomfort than waiting to lose his erection. Also, he was concerned that House's leg might require some change in position, and he didn't want to be in the way. House grunted as he slipped free, and Wilson knew well the sensation of sudden emptiness that sometimes caused. He rubbed House's back, then bent down to kiss heated skin gently.
"Stay put and I'll clean you up," Wilson murmured, sounding satisfied rather than embarrassed.
"Mrnh," House said. His muscles were water, completely limp on the bed and weighing a hundred pounds each. Wilson came back with a warm washcloth and wiped the oily lube from his back and rump. It had the side-effect of cleaning some sweat away, and the evaporating dampness was pleasantly cool.
"Gonna turn you over," Wilson said, and House helped as much as he could until he was on his back and could resume his imitation of cataplexia. His belly was wet from his climax, and he purred low as Wilson cleaned him there, too. The younger man was making quiet sounds of contentment, probably not even aware he was doing so, and House listened while he waited for his voluntary gross motor skills to return. Wilson grabbed the soaked pillow and turned it over on the bed, damp side down. "You get that one," he said wryly.
"Usshl," House mumbled, which Wilson took to be an extremely lazy utterance of "asshole". He smirked, then got up and went back to the bathroom. House could hear water running from the sink, and guessed that Wilson was cleaning himself up now that his lover was taken care of.
/Lover,/ he thought with odd clarity. /That's the right word, isn't it? Yes,/ he decided. /It is./
He had never felt like this after sex before. Empty. Full. Neither one uncomfortable. Just a delicious, exhausted limbo in which he felt no need to recover his composure or put his guard back up. It was simply too much effort right now, and he had nothing to hide from Wilson. /No desire to resume the facade because it never fooled him anyway./
When Wilson returned, he settled onto his side on the bed before realizing that the azure eyes were open and watching him silently. There was a small smile on House's face, weary and pleased. The smile was a good sign. He'd been afraid that panic would start to set in once the urgency of sex was gone. But House didn't look upset. In fact, the openness of his expression was somewhat unnerving.
"You need a pill?" Wilson asked mildly. House blinked at him slowly before drawing a deep breath for the energy to reply.
"Don't think so," he said. "Probably will in the morning, and not for my leg." Wilson laughed softly.
"There's no bleeding," he said easily. "I checked." He sounded proud of this fact.
"Could just mean you have a small dick," House mused, and Wilson snorted.
"Had to use three fingers to get you ready, remember?" he said, arching one eyebrow.
"Believe me, I remember," House said with feeling. He sighed gustily, a sound of satisfaction. "Sleep now," he demanded, and Wilson settled in next to him with a smile. He put one arm across House's belly possessively, and House shifted closer before they surrendered to exhaustion.
****
It was his leg that woke House the next morning, as usual. He fumbled for the night stand, searching for his Vicodin, momentarily confused when it wasn't at the height he expected and his hand encountered air. He forced one eye open and took in the warm, bland decor of Wilson's hotel room. The heavy curtains were drawn, but morning light made a sharp glow at the top edge.
/Oh. Right./ His pills were still in his jeans pocket, on the floor. Turning on his side to reach out of bed for them, he paused as an ache made itself known in his rectum. /Oh. Right./ But his jeans turned up empty, at least of pills, and a twinge of panic lanced through him. /Where -- / Then his gaze caught on the familiar amber bottle, which was on the night stand with a sheet of hotel stationery under it. Bottled water rested next to it. Wilson must have fished the medication out for him. He sat up carefully, wincing a little. Sitting down was going to be fun for a few days. He was thirsty, and the water was welcome as he took two pills. The note was in Wilson's neat, blocky script:
Went out to get a newspaper
and some coffee for both of
us. Back soon.
The note wasn't signed, not that it needed a signature since it could only have been one person. But House smirked at the mental image of Wilson agonizing over how to sign it (Wilson? James? Just an initial?) before giving up and leaving it blank.
House waited a few minutes for the Vicodin to start taking effect, then carefully levered himself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. He stretched his entire body slowly, and used both hands to massage his right thigh before attempting to stand. His cane was propped against the night stand -- another thoughtful gesture from Wilson.
/Not bad,/ House thought, gingerly testing some weight on his bad leg. /A hot shower and it'll be fine./ He ambled to the bathroom, amused at the prospect of smelling like Wilson's shampoo and soap when he was done.
****
Wilson came through the door a while later juggling two large cups of Starbucks coffee and a newspaper. House's coffee habits were oddly normal compared to his own. Wilson liked his to be sweet, which House declared to be capable of making Wilson's dentist weep from afar.
The bed was empty, and he had noted on the way in that the bathroom door was closed. He sighed. House would probably steal some of his clothes to wear. He had a mental image of House in one of his dress shirts, and his breath caught. The man did clean up nice. He had just reached the table in the room and set the coffee and newspaper down when he heard the bathroom door open behind him.
"I got you one of those ridiculous mocha/whipped cream things you claim to like," Wilson said. House's uneven gait moved closer to him across the carpet. "And I don't recommend reading the front page of the paper unless you want to be pissed off."
Wilson jumped when he felt two large palms cup his buttocks, sliding over his slacks for a moment before coming around his torso to embrace him.
"I never read the paper," House said. His lean body pressed up against Wilson's back, warm and...naked. "The news is already twelve hours old." One hand rubbed across Wilson's chest, fingers slipping between the buttons to find his bare skin beneath. Wilson moaned softly, leaning his head back to let House kiss his neck.
"Ancient history, hm?" Wilson said, his voice already rough. He was smiling, surprised and pleased by this attention from House.
"Yup." House rocked his hips gently into Wilson's rump, feeling and hearing the other man gasp. "Internet's faster." His other hand drifted down between Wilson's legs and massaged the soft cock there. "I need to know the instant Britney Spears does anything."
"Do not invoke that name if you want this to go anywhere," Wilson warned. He realized he could smell spearmint toothpaste. He scowled. "Did you use my toothbrush?" he asked incredulously.
"A little late to be worried about exchanging bodily fluids," House replied.
"Using another person's toothbrush is just...gross," Wilson said.
"Do you really want to be talking about that right now?" House wondered. He was using the backs of his knuckles to stroke up and down the fly of Wilson's slacks. He could feel the presence there beginning to swell and harden. Wilson cursed softly and gripped the table where he was standing.
"This isn't...still you apologizing, is it?" Wilson asked hesitantly.
"Nope," House murmured against his neck. "Finished that last night."
"So...what's this?"
"Mmm, think it's called being horny," House said, nuzzling him and then nipping his earlobe. "Are you objecting?"
"Uh...no..." Wilson said, although it came out more as a groan.
"Didn't get much of a chance to touch you last night," House mused, left hand roaming across Wilson's chest and stomach. "Definite oversight."
"I wasn't sure...you'd still be here when I got back this morning," Wilson admitted. He expected House to stop fondling him, to hesitate when confronted with the emotional foundation of the previous night's activities. But the hand between his thighs continued to explore and tease, finding the head of his penis and squeezing lightly.
"You're the one who took the risk," House said, his voice low. "By admitting you were in love with me."
"And that...made it okay for you to come here," Wilson reasoned slowly. "Because it was a safe bet that I wouldn't freak out, even if I said no. I'd already bared my soul, so it was unlikely that I'd mock you if you bared yours." House took a deep breath, silent for a moment. His embrace was warm and intimate -- Wilson had never expected that House might be physically clingy in a relationship. It was...nice. It was very nice.
"Yeah," House said finally. "Something like that."
House unzipped Wilson's pants, not even bothering with the belt, and snuck his hand inside. He found soft boxers, and navigated through the fly of those to pull out a thickening, eager half-erection. Wilson's thighs started to shake, and House pressed him more firmly against the table. The cock in his hand was smooth and hot, firming quickly as he gave lazy strokes. "You look so good like this," House murmured against his throat. "All your clothes on, freshly shaved, coming apart as I touch you."
"Jesus, House," Wilson sighed, starting to rock into his grasp, seeking friction against House's palm and fingers. House wouldn't let him have much, controlling the pace to something right on the edge of 'enough'. Wilson started to keen low in his throat. "God, faster," he panted. "Please..."
"But you sound so hot when I tease you," House complained, smirking. James was almost writhing in his arms now, delicious and flustered. He knew the slow speed was going to have some nice results -- he could feel the erection throb faintly on the in-stroke. /He came twice last night and he's still horny as fuck../ Wilson's keening got louder, his entire body tightening up a bit more with each slide of House's hand over him. "Come on. I want to see you come all over the place. Just do it, right here."
"Fuck," Wilson gasped, beginning to pant hard. "Fuck."
He felt James's cock twitch, and suddenly it was pulsing gently, steaming milky threads over his hand in a relaxed way. Then Wilson moaned, the orgasm itself catching up to the urgency of the ejaculation. "Oh yeah. Oh yeah yeah there -- " James convulsed, his cock spraying hard halfway across the table with renewed eagerness. House stroked him firmly, the semen becoming lube over the head and shaft, and Wilson spasmed again with a low cry.
"Yeah, that's it," House whispered. "All of it, come on." He got a few more pulses before Wilson made a sound of complaint -- too sensitive. House let him go carefully, then wiped his hand on Wilson's clean shirt.
"Jerk," Wilson sighed. House chuckled. "Okay, that is disgusting."
"What?" House said.
"Look at the newspaper."
The paper Wilson had put on the table was covered in wet streaks, some of them still visibly pearly. But Wilson didn't move from House's arms, and hummed quietly when House nuzzled and kissed his neck. House shifted his hips a little when he felt Wilson's hand reaching back to fondle him.
"Little too soon for me after last night," House murmured as Wilson's warm grasp enclosed his half-hard penis.
"Can I suck you anyway?" Wilson asked unexpectedly, his voice rough with arousal. House considered.
"As long as you're okay with the fact it probably won't go anywhere."
"Not a problem," Wilson said, turning around to take in House's fantastic nudity before pushing him back toward the bed. House didn't have his cane, so Wilson was careful. But the scar on his leg wasn't interesting at all compared to the overall picture. /God he looks incredible. He's so body-shy, even before the infarction, and he's just...magnificent./ He made House sit on the edge of the bed, then fell to his knees with a groan.
"Jesus," House breathed. "How can you -- " Wilson lunged for him, hot wet mouth taking him to the root, hands grabbing his ass. "Unh, Christ...how can you be this fucking horny?"
Wilson just growled around his penis, sucking and licking him with truly indecent relish. He leaned back on his hands, unable to look away from the other man's bobbing head and wet lips. The dark eyes met his for a moment, filled with a lust that went deeper than anything their bodies might be able to address. He felt himself harden suddenly, and Wilson smiled.
And honestly, it felt absolutely delicious. There was nothing in the world like having his cock sucked, especially when he wasn't likely to be able to orgasm. He was able to stay hard and sensitive for a long time, able to enjoy the attention and savor the heat and slickness. House purred deep in his chest. "Shit, that's good. Let's just stay here and you can do this all day." Wilson chuckled.
"Up," Wilson panted, drawing back just enough to speak. "Onto the bed." House obliged, reclining on the bed and watching Wilson climb on the bed with him and turn around to face House's feet in what was basically half of a 69 position. The position allowed him to deep throat House's cock perfectly, and House arched his back in appreciation.
"Holy crap," he gasped. "Uhhhhh yeah. You know you're going to have to teach me how you do that."
Wilson got comfortable on his side, in for the long haul because he loved doing this and was going to do it as long as House would let him. House was humming quietly, stretching and sighing and showing no sign of getting bored as the minutes went by.
After about twenty minutes, House spoke.
"You can stop if you're getting tired," he said. Wilson let go to glance back at him.
"I...was afraid you were getting tired of it," Wilson replied.
"Nope," House said. He wasn't lying -- his cock was hard and warm, definitely not the response of a man not enjoying himself. "Vicodin makes it hard for me to climax sometimes...but it still feels good. If you're okay with doing this."
"I'm very, very okay with this," Wilson murmured, smiling before devouring him again.
House felt him shift on the bed, and noticed for the first time that Wilson hadn't zipped himself up from before. The very tip of his penis was just peeking out of the fly.
"Christ, Wilson, are you hard again?" House said incredulously. He saw Wilson blush, and he grinned as he reached out to tickle the swollen glans of Wilson's penis. Wilson flinched and moaned. "Ha! You are! No wonder you didn't want to move back in with me. You couldn't whack off as much as you wanted to. Are you always like this?"
"Not always," Wilson mumbled before returning to pleasuring House.
"You mean...it's me?" House said. The blush on Wilson's face was spreading down his neck, and House experienced a flood of pride and some other emotion he wasn't sure about. He used both hands this time, unbuckling Wilson's pants and coaxing the other man into helping him get them off. "Much better," House declared, closing his palm around the cock that was once again hard just for him. Wilson grunted and thrust into his grip. "Just relax there, Jimmy. No rush."
And then he scooted across the bed to close the space between them. Wilson moaned, high and loud, as warm, bristly lips slid down over his aching erection. House hummed to himself, beginning to slowly rock in and out of James's mouth even as he took James as deep as he could into his own. This was nice. Primal. Wilson was whimpering, breaths fast and rough as he fought to keep his mouth around House and not pull away to just howl with delight.
Wilson couldn't stop the noises coming out of his throat, however much they embarrassed him. He wanted to stay like this forever; this perfect hardness in his mouth, the unbearable pleasure of House sucking him in those few precious seconds when he knew he was going to come hard into the other man's throat. He clutched at House's legs as the flame rushed toward him, his entire body squirming in ecstasy.
The flood was his entire world for a few heartbeats. His voice wasn't his own anymore, sobbing and laughing and moaning as he spilled himself down House's eager throat. And House was coming, thrusting up against his lips and grabbing blindly at his ass, still going even as Wilson himself fell gently back to earth. Wilson pulled out of House's mouth, sated, and smiled as House kept arching into him.
"Oh fuck, James! Shit..." It seemed to wrench his very being, slow to leave even once his cock was spent. Tremors rippled through him as he panted on the bed and Wilson licked him gently. "God, I didn't think I could..." His hand wearily ran through Wilson's damp hair, petting him. "God."
Wilson was making a sound against his hip, a breathless gasping, that worried House a little. /Oh hell, I hope he isn't crying. Even if it's good crying, I completely suck at dealing with it./ But then Wilson rolled onto his back, exhausted, and House could see the easy, joyful grin on the other man's face.
"Hmph," House teased. "Proud of yourself, aren't you?" Wilson's head turned toward him, and he was struck by how much younger Wilson looked when he was happy.
"Shouldn't I be?" Wilson asked, smiling broadly. "And yes, it's you."
"It's me what?"
"It's you that makes me this horny," Wilson said, answering House's question from before. "You're beautiful and sexy and right now I have too many endorphins flooding my body to care how stupid that sounds, or how much you're going to poke fun at me for it later." He was still smiling.
"I'll admit I think you're nuts," House mused. "Since there is no measure by which I can be considered beautiful." Wilson's hand came to rest on his ribs lightly, just stroking.
"You're wrong about that," Wilson said. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so. You just can't see it when you look in the mirror. A bit rough, maybe, with the whole 'I shave when I feel like it' look. But gorgeous all the same."
"Whatever." House sat up slowly, feeling energized rather than sleepy from their lovemaking. "I require coffee," he said. "Then breakfast."
"Coffee's over there, getting cold," Wilson said, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the table. There was something odd about his tone this time, and House glanced at him.
"That's what kitchenette microwaves are for," House said, lifting his right leg over the side of the bed so he could get up. He hobbled across the room, leaning on the table with one hand as he tasted the coffee. He made a face. "This one's yours. And no amount of microwaving is going to fix it, either."
Wilson didn't answer, and House looked over at him, wondering if he had dozed off. But Wilson's eyes were open, gazing up at the ceiling. He felt a low ache of empathy in the pit of his stomach. He knew was Wilson was thinking, and that was just no good. "Hey," he said quietly, hesitantly. "I was thinking...maybe we could go out later. For dinner."
He saw Wilson's brow furrow, and then Wilson craned his head back in an attempt to meet House's gaze.
"You mean...like a date?" he said.
"Not just 'like' a date," House said. "But an actual, honest to goodness date." Wilson rolled off the bed suddenly, looking both ridiculous and hot wearing his shirt but no pants or boxers. House smiled faintly as Wilson came toward him, knowing that his own nudity was far more absurd. But for once, he didn't feel self-conscious about it, not even about the scar on his leg.
"You mean that, don't you?" Wilson said wonderingly, his joyful smile beginning to return.
"You don't have to sound so shocked," House murmured, dropping his gaze shyly. He was startled when Wilson ducked down to catch his lips in a gentle kiss. He kissed back, somewhat to his own surprise because this whole thing was just so weird and so comfortable at the same time. Wilson smiled against his mouth, and was still smiling when they broke apart.
"I think we should put some clothes on if we're going out to breakfast," Wilson said.
"Yeah yeah," House sighed. "Laws and all that, depriving the world of my fantastic ass." Wilson laughed as he moved away to find a clean shirt. House meant it as a self-deprecating joke. But he did, in fact, have a fantastic ass, and would never believe Wilson if Wilson said so aloud.
They left the hotel together, unbothered by the rain that was still coming down since yesterday. Their sun had already come out.
The End